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The Clockworks’ Dark Past – Part 02

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Translator: Kell

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I returned to the clock tower in the village and continued producing gold in my workshop. At the royal court, I curried the queen’s favor and offered my opinion on the colonial policies. The queen revered me, pampered me, and wanted to take this mysterious masked man with her wherever she went.

I continued to give gold to the king. I also promised to cast a magic spell on the queen so she would never age, despite the fact that she was young and lovely enough to not have to worry about such things.

One day, the king stopped me in the opulent corridors of the royal palace.

“Who are you really?” he demanded.

“…What?”

“One king is enough for a kingdom. What are you planning? What are you after?”

I laughed at his words. How could the king possibly know my true objective?

The king feared me and at some point began to call me Leviathan, the incarnation of the serpent that gave Adam and Eve the forbidden apple in the Bible. The Leviathan was a gigantic, immortal monster with the power to destroy the world.

The king regarded me with cold eyes.

“Leviathan, the alchemist! Sinister man. You have brought wealth to my kingdom and stolen the heart of my precious queen. Who are you? What are you hiding under that mask?”

Fear suddenly gripped my heart. Fear that the king would one day unmask me. Unsolved mysteries can eat away at one’s mind. The king must spend sleepless nights thinking only of this mask, which I never removed even when my queen begged me to.

If my mask is peeled off, it will be the end of me.

My eternal life will be extinguished at that moment, and my body will return to the earth as it was supposed to ages ago.

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I write this memoir now, winter of 1899.

I can no longer bear the weight of my sin. At that time, I was simply desperate. I had no other choice. Somewhere down the line, I must have gone mad.

Was it when I met the queen, an innocent femme fatale? Or was I already mad when I perished a long, long time ago, and rose back to life?

My sin was not my deception of the king and his ministers.

Nor was it my manipulation of the innocent queen.

No…

My sin was brutally murdering Ian, the son of Baron Musgrave.

Ian, the boy who smiled at me the day I first met him. Two years later, in the clockwork room, he collapsed at my feet, screaming in agony. Hot, golden liquid flowed down his slender throat and tore through his smooth white belly from the inside, spilling out along with fresh blood and ruptured entrails.

The last gold I ever made.

Ian de Musgrave died a horrible death.

I killed him.

No one knows how I did it.

You, of the future.

Are you a man?

A woman?

An adult?

A child?

It matters not. Save me. I cannot bear the weight of my sin! Should the time of my death come, my soul will forever linger in the clock tower where Ian died.

I killed Ian.

And I shall continue to kill.

I will roam the clock tower for eternity as a vile murderer.

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Chapter 2: The Clockwork’s Dark Past

The U-shaped school building standing in the middle of the vast campus of St. Marguerite Academy had stone halls, high-ceilinged hallways, and staircases so complex as to seem like mazes from the eyes of a new student.

On the second floor of the school building, in the usual spacious classroom, students—sophisticated but a little too unapproachable children of nobility—had already gathered and taken their seats. It was around 8:30 in the morning. They glanced at each other, waiting for their homeroom teacher, who should have arrived by now.

With exams in all subjects done and only a few classes remaining, the students were more relaxed than ever, chatting and doing their hair.

Avril, an international student, was lounging by the window of the classroom, her chin resting on her hand. She was wearing a frown. A summer breeze blowing through the window stirred her short blonde hair.

“He’s late. Morning class is about to start,” she mumbled with a sigh.

Outside, the garden glistened under the summer sun, thick shrubs glowing bright-green. Birds perched on the roof of the small square gazebos chittered.

“An honor student who never comes in late or leaves early, but when it comes to the library, this happens,” Avril grumbled, watching the garden from the second-floor window. “How cute is that girl in the library anyway? I’m not bad-looking either… I think… Actually, I don’t know.”

Like a dog scolded by its owner, Avril cast her eyes down, dejected.

Birds chirped once more from atop the gazebo.

“What if the me I see in the mirror is just my mind dolling me up? Maybe in Kujou’s eyes, I look like a very plain, typical English woman. No!”

Avril poked a nearby female student with pigtails, who was flipping through her textbook. She looked up with a frown, her almond-shaped eyes narrowing.

“What?” she huffed.

“Be honest,” Avril said. “How do I look?”

“Well… It pains me to admit it, but I think you’re the prettiest girl in class.”

“Really?”

The girl nodded a couple of times and turned her attention back to her textbook. Delighted, Avril began tugging at her hair and fixing it.

“Where is he?” she mumbled again, looking out the window.

Her eyes caught something white.

“Huh?” She rose to her feet.

It was trotting along the bright pathway toward the school building. She had never seen something like it before.

A doll.

It was a porcelain doll with long, bright golden hair that hung down to its feet like an untied velvet turban. The white ruffles and pink laces of its dress swayed softly as it walked, pearl buttons glinting in the morning sun. It was just outside the window, crossing the path in front of the school building. Avril couldn’t see its face clearly, but it was small, with fluffy frills and golden hair. It was a captivating doll, grabbing hold of Avril’s heart and not letting go.

“What a pretty doll! Is it an antique? Mass-produced dolls in this century don’t look like that. It’s so sparkly, so fair and smooth, and those rosy cheeks! Plus it’s walking like an actual human being… Wait, huh?” Avril leaned forward. “It’s walking!” she exclaimed.

“Keep it down,” the female student growled, lifting her head.

“S-Sorry… I just saw a doll walking around like a human being. Historic schools are just different, huh? Weird stuff happening so early in the morning.”

“What are you talking about? English women sure are stupid.”

“What did you say?!” She turned her gaze back to the window. “Huh?!”

“What is it this time?”

“I know who owns the walking doll. It’s Ms. Cecile!”

Ms. Cecile, who was hurrying down the path toward the school building, noticed the walking doll and rushed over. Unaware that Avril was watching, she started arguing with the walking doll. The teacher was getting angry, but the doll snubbed her and tried to walk away. Ms. Cecile, however, was not to be outdone. Having enough of the doll’s tantrum, she spread her arms wide…

“She lifted it,” Avril said.

“Well, of course,” the female student scoffed. “It’s a doll, after all.”

Avril watched as the teacher slid her arms into the doll’s sides from behind, lifted it up, and dragged it toward the school building. The doll’s face turned crimson as it flailed its arms and legs in resistance. The lace of her dress billowed majestically, and her pink petticoat rippled in the wind. It seemed, for a moment, like a rose blooming.

Then, an oriental boy—Kazuya Kujou—came walking from the end of the pathway with a straight posture. He was carrying a huge golden book under his arm. Kazuya looked up when he noticed the commotion, and for some reason jumped when he saw the doll. He ran up to the doll, and started arguing with it along with Ms. Cecile.

“Kujou too? What on earth is going on here?” Avril wondered.

“Why don’t you close the window and prepare for the lesson?” her classmate said.

“But the moving doll…”

“Avril Bradley. This academy is riddled with horror stories. Statues drink at night, empty suits of armor run around, and a classmate who never comes to class is a Gray Wolf. A moving doll is no big deal. Please go back to your seat. You’ve been disturbing me for a while now.”

Shrugging, Avril jumped off the female student’s desk, which she had climbed onto to get a better look out the window, and reluctantly returned to her seat, opening her textbook.

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